


I Thought I Saw Him The Other Day

by kianisabitch



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Childhood Trauma, LGBTQ Themes, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Non-Sexual Age Play, Past Rape/Non-con, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Tony Stark, Rape Recovery, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Trans Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 11:02:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18364706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kianisabitch/pseuds/kianisabitch
Summary: A part of him, deep inside and tucked away behind the trauma and pain and the undeniable angst of his childhood, knew he hadn’t really seen Skip Westcott on the subway earlier that day. The logical part of him knew that the mind of an abuse survivor tended to fill in information after going through severe traumatic situations. Your mind tended to sense threat at every single turn and it found evidence of your abuser even in places where it simply did not exist.When he was younger, he used to see Skip everywhere. In the waiting room at his therapist’s office and the barista at the coffee shop that his uncle always used to take him too after school on Tuesday afternoons, or the ticket taker at the movie theater or the janitor who worked the afternoon shift at his middle school. Every man with sandy blonde hair and an overbite and a scar on his left cheek was Skip; the scar was from the time a far younger Peter Parker (and consequently, a far less transitioned Peter Parker) had scratched the man when he had attempted to drag him to his bed by his wrist.ORPeter thinks he sees Skip on the subway and talks to Mr. Stark about how weak he feels for being a child sexual abuse survivor.





	I Thought I Saw Him The Other Day

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags for the triggers and take care of yourself!!
> 
> Also for reference this is tagged as non sexual age play and age regression, because those are the tags on ao3 that most conform with what is in this fic. However, Peter uses age regression as a  
> coping skill for extreme trauma.

“I know that this sounds fucked up,” Peter nervously twitched. His nose scrunched up in discomfort and he bunched up the fabric of Mr. Stark’s too large, dark blue, MIT robotics team sweatshirt in his fist. “But I thought I saw  **him** the other day.” He scrunched his nose up again, taking a deep breath before he continued to talk. “I was on the subway and I looked down at my phone to change the song and when I looked up again, I felt like he was staring at me. When I blinked he was gone again, it was like magic, but I swear he was there. He had to have been there Mr. Stark… he had to have been there… If he wasn’t there I must be going crazy Mr. Stark and I can’t be going crazy”

 

Peter’s voice trailed off at the end, as if he was scared that the longer he continued talking, the less likely his story would become. A part of him, deep inside and tucked away behind the trauma and pain and the undeniable angst of his childhood, knew he hadn’t really seen Skip Westcott on the subway earlier that day. The logical part of him knew that the mind of an abuse survivor tended to fill in information after going through severe traumatic situations. Your mind tended to sense threat at every single turn and it found evidence of your abuser even in places where it simply did not exist.

 

When he was younger, he used to see Skip everywhere. In the waiting room at his therapist’s office and the barista at the coffee shop that his uncle always used to take him too after school on Tuesday afternoons, or the ticket taker at the movie theater or the janitor who worked the afternoon shift at his middle school. Every man with sandy blonde hair and an overbite and a scar on his left cheek was Skip; the scar was from the time a far younger Peter Parker (and consequently, a far less transitioned Peter Parker) had scratched the man when he had attempted to drag him to his bed by his wrist. 

 

Peter liked to think his first boys haircut was because he finally understood that the reason he felt so bad in his body was because of being a young trans boy with unchecked gender dysphoria; but it was really due to Skip. The night after the man had first pulled his pigtails to get him to put his tiny mouth around his cock, he had been missing his front to teeth the boy was so young, Peter had hacked his pigtails off with bright green safety scissors in the hall bathroom at 4 in the morning. The next morning, when he had managed to finally drag himself from bed for school, his Aunt and Uncle had mourned the loss of his hair more than the loss of his innocence. Of course they hadn’t known there was any innocence lost and when they did discover what Peter’s babysitter had done to them every time they were left alone together, Uncle Ben had knocked out one of Skip’s teeth with how hard he had punched him. (The man on the the subway had all his teeth and a perfect smile, yet another reason Peter knew his brain was tricking him).

 

Peter adjusted his binder through his mentors sweatshirt, it felt to tight and suffocating. He kept his eyes trailed down on his lap, not wanting to talk himself out of sharing with Mr. Stark. He knows the man is confused, but Peter does not believe in owing others his abuse story no matter how confused they may be. 

 

But the thing is, Tony Stark is not another therapist or school counselor or nosey classmate or random person online that thinks they are entitled to his poetry or 3 in the morning tumblr rants about his abuse story just because they were also assigned female at birth. Tony Stark was definitely not another teenage boy who thought they could save Peter or a girl who thought he was cute, because he had a sad story and a queer identity. 

 

No, Tony Stark is someone who loves him. Someone who cares about him and someone he fleetingly calls dad in the silence of a bathroom when he his crying his eyes out and ranting on the internet at 3 in the morning about how the only father figure he has, doesn’t know how he feels about him. Tony is someone who buys him mint chocolate chip milkshakes and lets him borrow his old sweatshirts and sleep in them every night and never give them back. Tony is someone who carries him to his room when he falls asleep sitting at the crowded table in the lab or on the couch during movie night. He is a someone who goes to science expos with him and always used his ‘rich and famous’ privilege to get the boy signed posters from his favorite sci fi actors and comic book writers. 

 

Tony is the man who no questions asked helps Peter into the shower when he wakes up in a bed soaked with his own urine late at night, who soothes him when he is crying from nightmares and always treats him like a young adult and not the baby he feels like when his body betrays him and makes him wet the bed because the memories are too vivid and horrifyingly realistic in his sleep. Tony is someone who always buys him a new backpack when Aunt May doesn’t have money for it and new binders when his are worn out and frayed at the edges. He never ever makes fun of Peter when he sucked on his fingers or preferred animated movies because he can’t stand watching scary movies (they remind him too much of his own trauma and gore causes him to have flashbacks).

 

Tony Stark deserves the truth, because he deeply and completely cares about the boy. He didn’t ever make fun of Peter or get sick of him or leave when he was feeling low energy or tired or worn out. He never called Peter a baby for wetting the bed or needing Tony to pick him up from school when he had a panic attack and got sent to the nurses office and Aunt May couldn’t be reached at work. He would always pick Peter up and get him pancakes or just take him back to the tower and let him cry.    

 

“You know, I never told you about him because I was scared you were going to leave me if you found out what happened when I was little. I know that you must know that something is wrong, people don’t act as fucked up as me without something really being wrong. You must know something happened to me because of how much of a mess I am ” Peter slid the tips of his index and middle fingers into his mouth, sucking and nipping at the flesh. When he spoke next his words were muffled, but neither male commented on it. “When I was a kid there was this babysitter I had...” the words become even more muffled as he sucked at his fingers even harder, trying to keep himself from freaking out the thought of Skip.. “He was really cool and nerdy and nice and just everything about him was really great at first. It was before I came out, so people thought it was pretty weird for me to have a  male babysitter. But I always defended it because guys made me more comfortable than other girls. I also think that my Aunt and Uncle had an inkling that I was a trans guy, even before any of us knew what that truly meant. I also acted like a little boy and they just wanted to make me happy and feel as normal as any gender confused child could. So when I needed a babysitter, they got me a male babysitter in hopes that it would make me feel like every other boy my age. Skip was an honors student and worked at the local record ship, so they trusted him… he liked Star Wars- so being a dumb little kid, I trusted him.” Peter paused, trailing his tongue over the pad of his fingers and finally looking into Tony’s eyes. “I shouldn’t have trusted him Mr. Stark,” his voice cracked as tears ran down his face, “I shouldn’t have trusted him at all. We did a couple of test runs though, where my Aunt and Uncle just went in the other room and Skip played with me. They all went well, so my Aunt and Uncle left me alone with him a few weeks later for the first time. But… but… that first night we were left alone... he... he... he… well he, he uh, he put his disgusting, fucking dirty fingers down there.” Peter used the hand not in his mouth to gesture towards his genitalia. He wasn’t sure if he couldn’t say the word ‘vagina’ because of his dysphoria or because every time he heard the word it made him think of when he was molested and fucking raped when he was a child and it made him want to scream and cry and claw his eyes out and fucking vomit all over the floor.

 

Tony’s face has an unreadable expression on it. His eyes are sad, yet they are filled with rage and contempt for the man Peter is describing. He reaches out a single hand towards Peter, but before he can touch the boy he stops and asks. “Hey kiddo, can I touch you please?” His voice is rumbling and it cracks at the edges like he is about to lose all control and cry out. However, the way the man asks the question makes Peter smile around the fingers slotted in his mouth and he nods his head a single time. He knows Tony asked because he to is a trauma survivor,  though he rarely talks about it. However, in that moment there is a sense of solidarity between the two solemn boys who hate to be touched and who were hurt too many times in their life’s, torn down and abused by those who were meant to protect them.

 

Tony pulls the boy to be half leaning on his lap, helping him get situated and comfy on the fuzzy red and, Iron Man blanket over his legs. Peter’s head is slotted in the crook of his neck, and he can hear Tony’s heartbeat thundering and loud. Little trails of spit soak into Tony’s shirt from the space between his fingers and mouth, but the man does not want to stress Peter out and he does not comment on it. Instead he places his own hand on top of Peter’s and lets it bob up and down in the same rhythm as Peter sucks on his fingers.

 

“I could never leave you kiddo, you’re stuck for the long run.” Tony’s other hand tousles Peter’s curls, scratching his scalp every few seconds and laughing as Peter nuzzles in closer to the man’s hand.

 

“I was only 11… And even though I somewhat already knew I was a boy, I didn’t really know I was actually a boy yet, Mr. Stark. I felt like I was the little girl in the movie about child molestation they showed us in my 5th grade health class, that they didn’t realize actually affected anyone in the classroom.” Peter whimpers, not wanting to think about himself as female for longer than necessary, but still wanting to tell the man what is on his mind and have him truly understand how he felt. “I had these stupid big round glasses and my hair was always in these perfect little pigtails with bows… heck, I even wore mary janes and knee socks every day and these little plaid skirts that made it harder for me to run away in. I was a pedophiles wet dream and I was too young to fucking know it. Predators love innocence, they eat it up like it’s candy- like  **we** are the candy and it leaves us so helpless and dumb and weak. It makes turns us into victims.” 

 

Tony frowned, “You’re not helpless sweetheart, and you are no victim. You are so strong Peter.” Mr. Stark’s voice sounds like it’s breaking by the second. “You are the superhero I look up to kiddo, because you are stronger than the rest of us. You are so much stronger than me or Rhodey or bird brain or even Mr. Goody two shoes Steve Rogers. You have gone through so much and you are stronger than me on your worst days”

 

Peter’s cheeks tint bright pink, spit drips down his fingers and the side of his hand and he squirms in Mr. Starks lap at the compliment. There are so many survivors out there that never get told they are strong for living, that they’re super heroes for dealing with the nasty side effects of their abuse each and everyday. 

 

“People like to romanticize abuse survivors, they act like our consent is sexy and our narratives only exist to prove that there are non abusive people in the world. But Mr. Stark, please understand me when I say that my story is not romantic and I don’t even want it to be romantic. My story is hating to be touched by others and nightmares and wetting the bed way too often to be socially acceptable for a 15 year old and swearing I see him anywhere and everywhere, when I know it impossible for him to be there and know that he is not truly there. Everytime I see mary janes and knee socks on a little girl I want to scream, because there is a tiny chance that they are going through what I went through when I was there age. I hate being a survivor, Mr. Stark. I hate it it so much. I hate it because it forces me to live everyday on edge and on my toes. I feel like I can never breath. I feel like a baby. I feel weak. I feel like I can’t survive. I feel like I am one step away from dying.” 

 

Peter’s voice gets faster and faster until Tony starts shushing him and rocking him back and forth until he can finally breathe normally again. “How about we take a break from this really intense conversation kiddo, we can watch a Disney movie and drink some homemade mint chocolate chip milkshakes with extra whip cream and just forget about the past for even a little while.” 

 

Peter smiles up at the man. He wishes it was that easy. That he could ignore it and it would go away forever. He knows Mr. Stark knows it doesn’t work like that, however. Mr. Stark is a survivor just like him and the men lives every day as on edge as Peter himself does. So for a single second is is going to act like it does work like that. He will try and distract himself and he will try and forget  by drinking his favorite milkshake and watching an animated movie. 

 

“You know,” Peter’s voice is soft and sweet like honey or a curious young child. “When I used to go to therapy appointments, I always wore an Iron Man mask because you’re my hero Mr. Stark. You’re a survivor just like me and you are the strongest person I know.”

 

Tony’s face is now flushed bright red and he sputters to denounce what Peter is saying to him. Tony hates when people point out how strong he is for surviving the trauma in his life. But before he can, Peter pulls his fingers from his mouth with a loud, wet pop and giggles loudly. His laughter sounds like sea glass and it is a welcome change to the sounds of crying and screaming the boy is so often plagued with. He is running towards the kitchen now, no doubt ready to squirt an entire can of whipped cream into his mouth and swallow it all before Mr. Stark can catch him and make him eat a conservative amount with a spoon and not straight out of the can. But before he can make it out of the room, Tony lightly grabs the boy’s wrist (careful to not scare him).  

 

“Just so you know Peter,” a sinister look flashes across his face for a single second, “If you ever actually see that jackass in public, you need to call me and I will fucking kick his ass. He is a monster for what he did to you, and he will not get away with hurting my little boy. I don’t know who is and I will respect your privacy, but if you ever tell me that piece of shit’s name, I will hunt him down and he will be receiving a visit from a very pissed off paternal superhero. I love you like a son kiddo. You are the most important person in my life and I would kill for you,” He pauses now for a single second, contemplating whether to say the next part, “Tell me his name and I will kill him Pete.” 

 

Peter’s ears tint bright red at the complement, before he starts shaking softly at the threat. In a strange sense, Peter is too nice to wish death upon even the worst person in his life, but he is still touched by Tony offering something like that so seriously. 

 

However before Peter can respond, as if he hadn’t said anything at all, Tony launched himself up from the couch (letting the Iron Man blanket fall from his lap). Rushing forward, he tightened the grasp on Peter’s wrist  and he pulled the boy with him towards the kitchen. “Now how do we feel about extra hot fudge on top of those extra delicious mint chocolate chip milkshakes, kiddo?” 

 

Peter smiles brightly, “ Sounds good, Mr. Stark. Thank you!” He knows he is thanking the man for so much more than hot fudge, but pretends it is only about the chocolate as they continue to make their way towards the kitchen. For the first time in the longest time, it feels like Peter once again has a father and it feels him with the largest sense of joy possible. It is intoxicating how happy he feels and he is drunk on the feeling of having a father who loves him. “That sounds absolutely perfect Mr. Stark, perfect.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This is 110% a vent fic about my own trauma and if you see yourself in Peter, please know that it will get better with time. You are strong and brave and I am proud of you for making it this far!!
> 
> Comments are better than coffee when it comes to fueling me, so please leave some !!!


End file.
